


i can't help myself at all, i can't help myself at all

by r1ker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harvey's dragged him to some dive-ass bar, it's dark and cold outside, and he manages to rub more than elbows with the penguin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have sunk into gotham hell and wrote this
> 
> shoutout to the person that can catch the miss congeniality reference that's bound to happen at any time in this fic

The evening shift ends for them at nine and Jim lets Harvey take the reins on this particular Friday night. They drive around south Gotham for what seems like hours until they find one dark hole in the wall, a bar nestled in-between alleys, a place accessible to those who are really looking for it.

A few cars are parked in an adjacent lot but the place is packed anyway, passersby flocking from the murky sidewalks to pad the walls of the bar. Harvey and Jim are still in cop mode and manage to wrestle by the majority of the crowds with their leather and their looks. Music's vibrating against the wall and Jim can feel it as his arms scrape against them from time to time with the sheer brunt of people in the place. Harvey's already chatting with the bartender, someone who looks to be in good spirits despite the barrage of orders from thirsty patrons. Jim's scanning the crowd, taking in faces as is his way, when he spots a familiar one nestled in a corner.

Oswald's nursing some mint drink in the corner, looking near pathetic when he catches people socializing with one another. He spots Jim and averts his eyes instantly. Jim kinda feels bad for him. It shouldn't be that way but it is, given the connection Oswald has - had, Jesus, she dropped him like a bad habit, Jim remembers instantly - to Fish, to a whole gaggle of criminals that run the Oswald underground with fervor. Still, this doesn't repel Jim tonight. It's a Friday, live and let live, he starts walking over to Oswald after tapping Harvey once on the shoulder to tell him of his departure.

"It's loud in here, isn't it," Jim gets in to Oswald. The two are shoulder to shoulder in the crowded room, close enough to catch every minute motion of their bodies. Oswald's breathing snags on something internal and it's at that moment that Jim realizes it's him that's doing that to Oswald, occupying him with nothing but his presence. 

"I don't mind, Fish had it louder in her place the last couple of months, before I got out," Oswald counters quietly, so mild in tone Jim has to strain his ears to hear.

Jim notices how curt he's being with Jim so he cuts off any talk of Fish and moves it to something a little less stilted.

"Why're you here?" They're face to face now, no longer speaking straight ahead. Jim watches Oswald's pupils dilate, black swallowing pinholes of cloudy blue as his eyes adjust to the shifting lights in the room. Jim's relaxing ever steady, leaning against the panelling of the wall to recline.

"Since Fish no longer requires my presence, I need something to occupy my Friday nights rather than moping around at home with Mother," Oswald sighs and Jim's growing pity for him expands more. The guy's a criminal, forced to felonious outs to support himself and what Jim assumes to be an ailing mother, but nonetheless is a shady individual. Jim snaps back into off-duty cop mode when his mind starts to go astray.

"Harvey's over there trying to score," Jim quips, hoping to lighten the mood between them again. Harvey chats up a few guys and girls but sets his sights on a guy at the end of the bar, thumbing through his phone and looking generally unamused.

"From what I can see, he's succeeding," Oswald adds, a smile twitching at the corners of his sharp mouth, and Jim looks over his shoulder to confirm - Harvey's edging towards the door with a lithe looking guy close to his arm. Harvey holds up his keys, mouths _I'm leaving, get a cab_ , and off he goes into the universe of a one-night-stand.

"Ah," Jim groans at the sight of his ride leaving for someone, but turns back to Oswald. As far as he's concerned, this night isn't over just because Harvey tapped out early. Weak. "He's a one and done kind of fellow. I'll get a cab on the way back." Oswald drinks up the way Jim shrugs off things, in boyish charm. They head to the bar when Oswald's drink runs warm with the mass of people taking the air and Jim's due for one anyway.

They take seats at the end of the bar and Jim knocks back a few whiskeys and Coke, so much so that Oswald looks at him with comical concern when Jim receives his fifth drink from the enthusiastic bartender. Oswald sips his juleps and makes it through three before starting to feel the effects, the warmth running down his arms and pooling in his stomach. Jim's already far gone with the whiskey, his world moving just a little bit quicker than it did when he was sober.

It's not long before he starts leaning closer to Oswald, giving him his best drunk jokes, ones his brain still retains over the years. Oswald's not even laughing at the jokes but at Jim's reaction to his own childish humor, Jim's raspy laughter barely suppressed by his own self-constraint. 

The bartender's so concerned for Jim's emotional security that the last few drinks are just Coke. Jim doesn't seem to notice, tossing back three of just straight soda, and breaks out his best material to Oswald.

"Why does the sun not need to go to college anymore?" Jim hiccups and Oswald shakes his head in fake confusion. "Because it already has 28 million degrees." Jim wheezes with laughter and Oswald can't help but smile. Over his years, Oswald deduced there were several types of drunks in this world - some were funny, some were quiet, and some were just plain mean. Oswald's lucky Jim fits into the first category, cracking enough jokes to keep himself in stitches.

Last call arrives before they know it, and a perfunctory glance at his watch tells Oswald it's two in the morning and past time to be home. Mother's probably hovering around the door. Since it looks like he's going to have to ease Jim through a drunken journey home, the two decide to go to Jim's house to resume the night free from the bar.

The cab ride to Jim's apartment is quiet. The hooch starts to wear off a little and Jim's overcome with energy, body fizzing with the second wave of drunk euphoria. Oswald takes note of Gotham at night as he gazes out the window during the short ride and can feel Jim's body heat in the cramped back seat. 

When the cab stops in front of the stoop, Jim leans over closer to Oswald, the two nearly nose to nose with their proximity. "Let's get out through your door. I don't want to fall in the street." Jim laughs once more and Oswald helps him up the stairs and into the apartment.

Jim barely unlocks the door, having dropped his keys three times on the welcome mat, but they manage to get inside. Oswald stands awkwardly in the doorway while Jim examines the rest of the house for any sign of life. He looks a little unaware, Oswald notices, that Barbara's long gone, her things that usually were in the main room packed up and taken away. 

"Well," Jim groans, stretching and rolling his shoulders, shirt riding up a little and giving Oswald a glimpse of abs, "Barbara's out. Come on in."

Oswald sits next to him on the leather couch and they enjoy the light silence, the room ringing from time to time with the bustling night city just outside the windows. 

"Do you think I'm cute?" Jim slurs a little, head lopping over on the back of the couch to gaze at the ceiling blankly.

"You're certainly one of the more handsome police officers out there," Oswald provides and Jim snorts a little with laughter.

"I think I'm pretty cute," Jim adds with a smile so bright that Oswald can't help but smile, too. 

"You are, you are cute," Oswald continues.

"Barbara didn't think I was cute," Jim says all of a sudden. He picks at a dry cuticle, scratches faintly at a long thumb. "I just remembered, she moved in with her mom a week ago. She's not here. She's not here because she didn't want to look at me anymore." Jim sighs and wrings his hands over his eyes. 

"That's not why she's gone, James," Oswald refutes, crossing his legs and turning to look at the sinking Jim. Jim's no longer giddy with the effect of alcohol, he's wrought with it. "She has her own problems to sort through right now and thought it best not to burden you with her presence as she deals. There's no way whatsoever she moved out of your shared apartment just because she didn't find you aesthetically pleasing." 

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I don't know of a single woman who would do that to a man. It's just the alcohol making you this way."

"Would you leave me?"

"Not unless you gave me a damn good reason, no. And even then, I wouldn't move away."

Jim's eyes turn to slits as his whole face is overcome with a smile. His mind, even in its cloud of inebriation, has reached a major goal.

Oswald's in love with him.

"Do you like me?" Jim proposes bluntly and Oswald's cheeks flush red. Their conversation just sped up, zero to one hundred so quick Oswald's head is spinning with the force. He's still drunk too, a little floaty with the juleps, but even through the mist he comes to a conclusion for this situation. There's no better time for a confession time than at three in the morning in a Gotham City Police Officer's apartment, he figures, and starts to go along with the game.

"You're the only police officer I don't detest," Oswald begins. 

"You like me. You want to _kiss_ me, you want to _hold_ me, you want to..." Jim trails off in his impersonation of some early 2000's romantic comedy protagonist (Oswald remembers catching that movie the day before, it's ridiculous). Jim's leaning on one elbow, Oswald's slouched down on the couch, and they're just close enough to lean in for a kiss, a touch of mouths so powerful Oswald's throat burns with the lack of air.

Oswald drags Jim over him, tucks his legs underneath the other's, and they're kissing and lying atop one another. Oswald's hands join at the small of Jim's back, just beneath the button-up, to relish in the warmth of his skin. Jim's hands are holding, just staying still, on each side of Oswald's face. Jim's thumbs rub beneath Oswald's eyes. Oswald's been hard since they walked in the door, but even more so now - it's not everyday you get the man you've lusted for for weeks on his couch, receptive and kissing you with a little more than the influence of alcohol behind him.

The taste of Jim beneath the odor of cheap soda and whiskey steals Oswald's breath further. 

Jim breaks away for breath and goes to loosen his pants, knocks Oswald's hands away accidentally, but all is resolved once Jim sheds his pants and grants Oswald access to his underwear. Oswald suddenly feels overdressed and shimmies out of his pants too, leaving the denim balled up beneath the coffee table. They lean up as one to rid themselves of the shirts and rejoice in the freedom of their hands now, free to grasp and touch, and they do. Jim goes for Oswald's cock and Oswald grants him access, toes curling as Jim's hand wraps around his dick. Oswald gasps, voice cracking with a grunt as Jim begins to stroke. Oswald's feet tap aimlessly at the armrest of the couch, skin of his bare legs prickling with the sensation of getting a handjob from someone with outlandish hands, hands that are soft and warm and worn with life. 

The heat of his orgasm pools behind his belly button before long and he warns Jim fruitlessly, "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm -" 

He does, hard enough to wring out a loud groan from his throat. Jim soaks it up endlessly, bringing his hand to his mouth only to swipe at Oswald's come with an eager tongue. Oswald still can't believe this is happening, can't believe James is taking his come into his mouth. That thought alone drags out his orgasm an extra two minutes, chills and sparks racing endlessly up and down his back, spiraling around his chest. It's even better than he thought about several nights ago beneath the covers in the black of his own bedroom, hand over his mouth and fingers shoved up his ass as he pretended they were Jim's.

He's dragged out of his thoughts with the sound of Jim coming, a vibrant gasp as patches of white end up on his stomach. He's out of breath completely now, and slumps on Oswald's chest, ignoring the slide of both of their damp torsos as they settle in. Oswald's nose is firmly in Jim's hair, breathing in the scent of the day and decent shampoo. His fingers inch at the buzzed nape of Jim's neck, rubbing. 

"I'm tired, let's go to bed," Jim finally says after a few minutes spent reveling in each other's touch. That's where they end up, Jim spooned around Oswald loosely, sleeping finally at four in the morning. Oswald doesn't dare move once they're both settled in. Oswald drags the blankets over the two of them and within minutes they're both asleep, beginning the night separate and ending it together.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jim's found that when he has an eventful night, he sleeps fast and hard, head pounding the next morning with the strength of it.

This morning's no different, eyes burning as bars of brilliant sunshine come from the window panes. The blankets are up over his head, guarding him from the brunt of the light, but it's still enough to leave him stunned. The alarm clock on the side table informs of the arrival of seven a.m., and Jim's so fortunate it's Saturday. Had he gone out and done the things he did the night before on a Sunday night, there'd be no way in hell he'd be sentient on Monday morning. He turns around a little to see Oswald dead to the world, fast asleep with the blankets up to his nose. He's breathing so gently Jim stops his own just to hear it. Jim reaches over to lay an arm over him, gently, just close enough to get a feel of him. Oswald's a light sleeper despite having been sleeping soundly, and his eyes slit open with the sensation of Jim's touch.

"I'm sorry, I - " Jim starts, feeling bad for waking him up. Oswald's bound to be exhausted after what they did last night, but he doesn't seemed perturbed by Jim's touch. He smiles lazily, stretches his feet and toes and legs and slides closer to Jim, tucking his face into Jim's shoulder. Jim slides back down off his elbow and joins him, carding his fingers through black hair tangled from sleep. They stay like that until Jim's phone, that second and back-up alarm he always dreads during weekdays, starts to slide across the laminated surface of the nightstand. He inches over, not enough to jostle Oswald as he lies on Jim's shoulder, and silences it, returns to his previous activities once more. 

"God, I wanna go back to sleep," Jim groans, shoulders tensing as he tries to stretch away the resounding ache that's settled in his bones. He kneads his hands over his eyes and that seems to do the trick for releasing the tension behind them. Oswald's got his head on Jim's shoulder now, just resting, arm against Jim's to hold their hands together between them. 

"It's the hangover saying that," Oswald tries to comfort, "when really brains can flourish on less than eight hours. You'll live, James. It won't be pretty, but you'll live." Jim groans and rolls over to bury his face in Oswald's shirt. Oswald releases a breath and works his hands on the back of Jim's neck, moving up at times to scrub at the shortness of Jim's hair. He presses a kiss at the top of Jim's head and continues to hold him, and they stay in that same way, joined together once again.


End file.
